After the ceremony in Mamallapuram , I take it easy and pack my bags in true Indian custom, slowly but surly. I’m taking this extra day as I’ve learnt in the past never to rush, as things are meant to happen in its own time. Read more...

Remember pushing your greens around hoping they would some how dissolve into your plate? You try hiding them under your potatoes, even though you now no longer can see them, you know they haven’t disappeared. Read more...

We are the three musketeers, all with visions of all riding Honda Baja around Sri Lanka, but that wasn’t the case. Mel got what we all dreamed of, Jarred a Honda AX-1 (an odd touring bike) and I, a Suzuki Djebel, a close sister to the DRZ-250 I use to ride at home (in fact it’s made better with the larger metal tank). Read more...

I often draw similarities between riding through third world countries with playing a video game. Indonesia was no exception. Jumping onto each island brought new obstacles to the table as I rise through the levels of this particular game. Read more...

Crossing the bridge into the Indonesian side, where we felt as if we were the only people there. Riding past a crisp single file path through the overgrown grass to a timber building with peeling paint and another, preminate concrete one. Read more...

Excitement grew outwards, originating from my belly, I ignore the thought it could possibly be nerves. Peering through the plastic oval window of the aero plane down to the sharp green mountains ranges, trying their hardest to touch the wings of the plane, towering well above the raging brown rivers that sat awkwardly at their feet. Read more...